Within hours of hitting the pinnacle of my career at Good Morning America, I got the news that I might have only a year to live. I faced a decision that tested me in every way imaginable.

At the Oscars in February 2012, I was so bone-tired, I could barely focus. Truth be told, I'd noticed a little lump in my neck. But I'd had a couple of nodules biopsied in recent years, and they'd always turned out to be nothing. My mom always said, "Everybody's got something." This was my something.

I might not have bothered to have it checked by my doctor if Amber, my wonderful girlfriend, hadn't been there  she was the one who insisted something wasn't quite right with me.

It wasn't until I returned from my vacation in April, after going in for a bone marrow biopsy, that I finally got the phone call from the specialist. Right away, I could tell from his tone that this was serious; I just didn't know how serious. He went on to describe in medical terms what he had discovered in my bone marrow: Pending further tests, he said, everything indicated MDS.

"Slow down, slow down," I said.

"MDS," he said.

"I have MS?" I asked. "Multiple sclerosis?"

"No, not MS," he said. "MDS. Myelo-dysplastic syndrome. It's a rare disease that we used to call pre-leukemia." He explained that MDS was an umbrella term for a group of diseases that ranged from "mild and easily managed" to "severe and life-threatening."

"But let's not get ahead of ourselves," he said. "The preliminary results point to MDS, and we must act quickly to get as much information as we can about how the disease is presenting itself in your case."

I sat back on the couch; I was numb. Then I did the very thing we journalists always tell people not to do  I went on the Internet. Maybe I was just hitting all the wrong pages, but I was reading scary fact after scary fact about the prognosis and survivability. I was alone and started crying hysterically.

I'm glad I waited until the next day to share the diagnosis with Amber; I was calmer, and I'd had time to sit with the news. Like me, Amber had no idea what MDS and a bone marrow transplant were  they were so different from my breast cancer diagnosis. We'd both known exactly what that was, and we'd known people who had beaten it. I explained to her that the next day I had an appointment with an oncologist, and Amber cleared her schedule to come with me. "We're stronger than this," she said, squeezing my hand.

"Whatever this is," I said.

"Whatever this is," she whispered back.

Then she hugged me, and I felt so grateful knowing that whatever was ahead of me, I wouldn't have to go through it alone. I pride myself on being strong for other people. It's a gift to have someone in my life who has shown, again and again, that she is more than capable of sharing any load I have to bear.

The next morning, it was back to work. After nearly 10 years on GMA, my routine is well honed. My BlackBerry alarm is set for 4:00 A.M.; I purposely place it across the room so I have to get out of bed to turn it off. I watch a few minutes of America This Morning to get a sense of whether anything happened in the world while I slept; then I shower and dress and take KJ out for a quick walk, so she doesn't have to cross her legs until the dog walker comes. I leave the TV on for KJ and always wonder: When we mention her name on GMA, does she start barking up a storm? By 5:05 A.M., I'm out the door.

Back in spring 2012, GMA was still the perennial underdog to the Today show. It's difficult to change people's habits. After I started, I had friends who still watched the other show! But then our current roster came together, and things began to change. George Stephanopoulos, a gifted political correspondent, joined as an anchor in 2009. ESPN alum Josh Elliott became a news anchor in 2011. Sam Champion was our beloved weather anchor, and rounding out the team was Lara Spencer as our lifestyle anchor. The five of us had an undeniable chemistry, and we started chipping away at the Today show.

The morning of April 19, 2012, was like any other, except that after the show I had plans to meet Amber and have a follow-up appointment with the MDS specialist. Work can be a great distraction when you're in the early stages of diagnosis. I said a prayer before jumping out of the car and let the day come at me.

I blew a kiss skyward and gave my daily greeting  "Morning, Daddy; watch over Momma"  then walked onto the set with a big smile on my face. The usual controlled chaos, as we call it, was comforting. After we'd completed the 8:30 hellos on GMA, we were walking back into the studio, and our senior executive producer, Tom Cibrowski, said in my earpiece, "I want to tell you first: We did it. It's official. The numbers are in and we won." I just started pumping my fist and saying, "Yes, yes, yes!" I didn't know whether to yell it out loud or wait for Tom to whisper it into the others' ears. I decided to wait, and once we all knew, George, Lara, Sam, Josh and I started jumping up and down like schoolkids. Yes, even the reserved George Stephanopoulos.

After we finished the show, there was a big celebration in the studio. We were all hugged up. For one blissful moment, I wasn't thinking about my doctor's appointment later that morning. I felt so proud of our team. I told the entire ABC News division, "This is just as much about you as it is about the five of us." I wanted everyone to feel a part of the victory, because they were.

Then I slipped out and picked Amber up at her apartment.

It took us about 25 minutes to get into the doctor's office; he was running late. Pure agony. Finally, the doctor came in and slumped in the chair behind his desk. He looked tired and opened a bottle of Diet Coke for himself, commenting on his need for caffeine. I didn't mention that I'd been up since 3:45 A.M. Still, I appreciated that he talked not just to me but to Amber as well, making sure she felt a part of the conversation. "So, myelodysplastic syndrome, what does that even mean?" he began. "Well, 'myelo' is bone marrow. Most people don't even know what bone marrow is, other than that they might have eaten it as osso buco in an Italian restaurant. Bone marrow is a very important organ; it makes the white blood cells that fight infection, it makes red blood cells that carry around oxygen and it makes platelets  little tiny cells that help your blood clot. If your bone marrow doesn't work, you've got problems with the production of these three lifesaving cell lines."

To illustrate the severity of my condition, he entered my stats and test results into a computer. A graph showed one year and two years with a dot in the middle. He turned the screen so Amber and I could see the dot. I asked, "What's that?"

At first I thought I had one to two years to do something about what I was facing. He said, "That's your life expectancy if you don't do anything."

One to two years? It couldn't be. Just moments before, I had been with my colleagues, celebrating a victory that had been years in the making.

Once it sunk in, though, I kicked into warrior mode. I leaned forward and slapped my fists on his desk and said, "OK. What do we do?"

"The only possible cure is a bone marrow transplant."

I remember hearing that word "cure," and I hung on to that sliver of hope for all it was worth. There was a chance we could defeat this, game over. A chance was all I needed.

After the appointment, I dropped Amber at her apartment. I needed time alone to digest the news. I had less than two years to live if I didn't have a transplant. In order to have a transplant, I would need to find a near-perfect match. I had no idea what that would entail.

At my apartment, KJ greeted me exuberantly. Number one or number 101, she has nothing but love for me. I didn't have much time to sit with the news of my diagnosis. I needed to change clothes to attend the wake and homegoing service of the dear mother of my producer, Karen Leo. I wasn't the only one on an emotional roller coaster that day. I mean, truly  we've all got something.

After the wake, I went home to change for the big party the network was throwing to celebrate our win. I was fried. I could hardly believe my day: number one, MDS, Karen's mom GMA party. I put on skinny jeans and my favorite jean jacket, lined with Hermès silk. When I got downstairs, Sam, Josh and Lara were standing at the front door of my apartment building. I was so excited to see them! I thought somehow they'd all realized what I was going through and were there to comfort me and escort me to the party, a few buildings down. Well actually they were a little tipsy from celebrating and had gotten lost. We had a good laugh and walked arm in arm to the rooftop party. People stopped us along the way and congratulated us.

It was a gorgeous April evening. I took in the brilliance of the early springtime sun setting over the Hudson. I looked around at the team. We have such a hardworking, young staff, especially the overnight shift who put the final touches on the show while we sleep. Many of them had to get back to work, but not before we took picture after picture on that magical rooftop.

It wasn't how I'd imagined it, sitting secretly with my heartbreaking news, but I prayed it was for every one of them. And I could say that I'd truly enjoyed the journey, because if I'd saved all my joy for the destination, I would have missed it. We are all so focused on getting "there," but a lot of times, "there" ends up feeling different than you expected. I thanked the good Lord that He'd allowed me to live long enough to see that special moment. Then I quietly left the party, silently chanting:

BE THE MATCH. SAVE A LIFE.Bone marrow stem cells from one of Robin's sisters saved her life. She was lucky: For people of color, there's roughly a 76% chance of finding a match on the bone marrow registry (for Caucasians, it's 97%). Robin has raised awareness: "So many think, I want to do something. Well, this is something you can do. It is the most selfless act of generosity I can think of." To learn more, go to bethematch.org.

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